“What do you want to talk about, soldier?” asked Lieutenant Andersma, stretching out lazily in his chair and removing his feet from the foot-rest.
“About the Maroons, Lieutenant,” said Jan submissively.
“Far too much has been said about them, lad,” laughed Andersma. “But go ahead, tell me; perhaps I’ll hear something new after all.”
Jan began to relate what had happened to him. When he ended by saying that the Maroons had been so good and kind to him, Andersma burst out laughing. “Young man, that is a fine story, really good. Just save it for when you’re back in Holland with your girls. Ha, ha: but you don’t think I believe it, do you?”
“It is true, Lieutenant, really true, and the old man, that Ta Jusu, he said, he said ….” Jan stuttered with embarrassment.
“Ha, ha, soldier. Cut it out. Your story is great, really, and good for telling your friends around the campfire if they want to lose heart,” laughed Andersma. “Ha, ha, this is certainly an original way of trying to get out of the service, eh?”
At that moment Jan saw the same lady as before approaching. When she was near the veranda, Andersma stood up and took a few steps towards her.
“Sarith, darling, come here. This soldier has been telling an amusing story.”
Andersma put his arm in that of the lady and drew her towards him. “Guess what he is claiming? He says that he was rescued in the bush by the Boni-negroes and that they healed his broken leg. He’s now trying to persuade me to be kind to those dear escapees there in the bush. Don’t you find it great, dear? Shall we move into the bush and go and lie in a hammock with the Maroons? Ha, ha.” The lady laughed, too, and said, “It will have happened in his dreams.”
Still laughing, Andersma said, “Go and tell your tale to the captain, and he can have a good laugh, too. Good day.”
Jan understood that the conversation was over and mumbled, “Good day, Lieutenant, madam.” He turned and left the veranda. Well, now he knew. No-one was going to believe him. He would simply say nothing; it wouldn’t help, anyway. If only he could get away from the army, it didn’t matter where, but just away! Jan understood full well that refusing to go on an expedition meant, in military terms, deserting, and carried the death penalty. He therefore had no choice but to go along, but he knew for sure that he would never fire at a Maroon and in fact would even warn them or help them if he could.
Meanwhile, everyone in Paramaribo had again become mightily scared in the face of the raids by the Boni-negroes. Colonel Fourgeoud’s men were suffering defeat after defeat. Time and time again came the frightening news that yet another plantation had been raided and whites had been murdered.
Within a short period the plantations Peron, Suynigheid and La Félicité fell. Even though the leaders Baron and Joli-Coeur had died a year earlier, their names were still mentioned in fear and trembling by the colonists. Joli-Coeur had raided the Rodenback Plantation with his group. They had succeeded in capturing the director, a certain Schulz, infamous for his atrocities against the negroes, and had hung him upside down by his feet. In the meantime the negroes ravaged through the plantation house, helping themselves to the wines and rum. Schulz recognized Joli-Coeur, who was born on this same plantation and had lived there until fleeing at the age of twelve. Trembling, the director had called out, “Don’t you recognize me, Joli-Coeur, don’t you know any more who I am? I was good to you, wasn’t I? I even gave you something from my own table when you were a child. Release me, please.”
Joli-Coeur had answered, already dancing with delight, “I remember very well, Schulz. I remember especially the time you raped my mother and had my father whipped to death when he tried to help her. I remember all that. Yes, I’ll release you.”
And with those words he separated Schulz’s head from his body with one stroke of his razor-sharp machete. Everyone knew this story, and it was embellished every time it was told. The one time Joli-Coeur had first thrown Schulz to the ground and all the negroes had danced on him. Then again, he had hung upside down for twenty-four hours, and when he had asked for something to drink, the negroes had emptied a bottle of wine just along the side of his mouth so that not a drop went into it. In any event, if a child was being naughty, the slave who was caring for him or her needed only to say, “Joli-Coeur is coming”181, and the child would become good and sweet-tempered again.
Even before Reindert Andersma’s group left, there came at the end of August the news that a commando comprising a hundred soldiers, thirty native rangers and the inevitable porters under the command of Captain Boltz had been attacked by the Maroons in a swamp. They had paid particular attention to the Black Rangers, whom they regarded as committing fratricide, and without bothering themselves too much with the Europeans they had unleashed a bloodbath among these negroes. Even so, only a few European soldiers, exhausted, starving and sick, managed to embark on the journey back to the town. The rest had already succumbed to exhaustion and disease.